


Whirlwind

by ZombieCheeze



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Breathplay, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCheeze/pseuds/ZombieCheeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris, a young teacher with striking good looks, has just learned that his newest student Kai is the alluring teen prostitute he once hired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> An exopromptmeme fill, completed in Sept 2013.

 “Park Chanyeol?”

 

“Here, Mr. Wu.”

 

Chanyeol smacks his gum and reclines sloppily in his desk chair, resting one foot on top of his other knee.  Kris frowns at Chanyeol, who smiles back placidly but doesn’t move, and Kris continues calling roll, trying not to get agitated this early in the morning.  It’s not worth it.

 

Teaching high school seniors is the second-hardest group of students Kris has ever had to teach, as most of them are eighteen years old or more and ready to dive headfirst into the real world.  The only thing worse is teaching hormonal, moody teenagers that would rather screw each other or sass off.

 

There’s a knock at the solid wooden door that interrupts his call of “Do Kyungsoo?” And as it’s the first day of the new semester, latecomers aren’t entirely unexpected, so he calls out loudly to come in.

 

“Sorry, sonsaengnim.” The newcomer says breathlessly as he closes the door behind himself, bowing deeply, “I’m new here, and I got lost.”

 

The new student’s nametag reads _Kim Jongin_ on the front of his neatly pressed blazer; his sleek brown hair is brushed back smartly to frame his handsome, tanned face, and Kris opens his mouth to speak, to say _It’s no problem, please come in_ —

 

But nothing comes out.

 

For Kris’s last birthday, his friends had hired a stripper.  A pretty young man with golden skin, with broad lips that had glistened with sweet-smelling gloss and a lean body that went on for miles, who had called himself _Kai_.  Kai, who sprinkled salt and tequila on his stomach for Kris to lick, and Kris had bent and used his teeth to pluck a slice of lime from Kai’s sumptuous mouth; Kai, who had ground against a pole with only the scrap of lace that passed for underwear to break up the lines of his incredible body.

 

After the party, Kai had cornered Kris with a murmur of “a present for the birthday boy” in his hotel room, and had sucked and fucked him completely dry.  The last memory Kris had of that night was of looking down to see Kai’s gorgeous lips wrapped around the base of his cock, damp hair sticking to his forehead, tan fingers gripping his hips, and Kris had come down his throat so hard he blacked out.

 

Kai was gone before Kris woke up the next morning, and Kris had found his wallet on the floor, emptied of cash.

 

Kris’s stomach jolts upward as the memory of lips and tongue and a whisper of _Happy birthday, sexy_ ghosts through him, sending a pleasant chill down his spine, tempered by a few degrees of anger.  He’s barely aware that he’s staring at Kim Jongin, mouth slightly open and eyebrows furrowed in confusion; nor is he aware that Jongin is staring at him, too, red-faced and twisting his hands together uncertainly.

 

Kris clears his throat eventually, after what seems like whole minutes of silence, and swallows to wet his dry mouth.  “Welcome,” He says lamely.  “Please take a seat.  Anywhere.”

 

It sounds hard and discourteous with his voice suddenly so ragged in his throat, but Jongin bows again and settles himself stiffly next to Park Chanyeol, who observes him with interest, as does Do Kyungsoo behind him.

 

“Anyway.  Now that we’re all here…” Kris begins to write on the board, detailing the lesson plan for the first day—just simple math today; but his hands are suddenly clumsy and his speech falling over itself as he teaches, and his eyes find Jongin each time he looks back at his students, critically sweeping the lines of his hands as he takes notes or the back of his head bowed over his paper, before he looks over the rest of the classroom.

 

By the time the lesson break rolls around, Kris’s stomach is aching and his head pounding, and he takes the quiet time to massage his temples gently before the next wave of students pour in. 

 

There must be some mistake.  His friends wouldn’t hire an underage stripper…would they?  And Jongin…there’s no way Jongin, quiet and studious in the front row, could be the same smooth-skinned Kai who’d bounced naked in his lap in Kris’s hotel room, his mascara smudged beneath his eyelids and his remarkable lips parted in a moan. 

 

Not to mention, it’s bad form to accuse someone of stealing from you if you aren’t even sure it’s really them.

 

Kris reads and rereads his lesson plan for the Junior class’s geometry lecture, the words slipping past his eyes without leaving any meaning behind whatsoever.  Moans—deep, throaty, pleasured sounds—echo faintly in his ears, and his stomach drops another notch.  Jongin isn’t Kai.  He can’t be.

 

Somehow, Kris isn’t buying it.

 

*

 

Kris is glad when the last day of the semester rolls around.

 

Though Jongin hardly speaks during class (and when he does, it’s in a terrible, husky, low tone, and his plain sincerity makes Kris’s blood boil) and turns in impeccable work, Kris can’t help but watch him mistrustfully.  His efforts to enforce his doubts on whether Jongin is really Kai have been largely unsuccessful, and he’s hard-pressed to keep himself from being overly harsh on Jongin’s homework, filled out in neat print and infuriatingly well done.

 

But Jongin is a model student, exceedingly polite, intelligent, calm, diligent, and that’s probably why Kris hates him so much.  Nevermind that Jongin reminds him so often of that night he was robbed by a prostitute.

 

The bell rings, and Kris ushers the students out of the room, shaking hands with each of them; and when the room is finally silent, he turns to close the door, and notices that Jongin is still standing in the middle of the room, staring at a point just over Kris’s left shoulder.  His bookbag is slung halfheartedly over his arm, and it slides down to his elbow in a defeated sort of way.  “Sonsaengnim.” He says quietly, and his tone is faintly constricted.

 

“Jongin?” Kris asks carefully, disarmed, and Jongin’s eyes dart to Kris’s face and away again.  He looks distinctly like a startled animal preparing to flee. “Er—is everything alright?”

 

Jongin puts a hand into his pants pocket and takes out a handful of cash, neatly folded and banded together.  He counts it with the swipe of a licked thumb—Kris tries very hard not to watch Jongin’s tongue—and then he folds it carefully again and holds it out to Kris.

 

“Jongin?  What—”

 

But Kris is pretty sure he already knows what this is for.

 

“I’m sorry, sonsaengnim.” Jongin says, breathless and pale as he thrusts his hand at Kris again.  Kris doesn’t move to take the money, and Jongin frowns.  “I’m sorry I stole from you.  I needed the money, but…now I have a better job, so I can return this.”

 

Kris stares.  The last thing he had expected was for Jongin to outright _confess_ that he’d stolen money from Kris—that they’d fucked in a hotel room for Kris’s birthday—that Kris had essentially bought and paid for a teenage hooker.

 

Kris doesn’t take the money.  He can’t move, can’t speak.  Jongin bites his lip, and his hand shakes as he pulls it back against his body.

 

“You’re Kai.” Kris says finally, rubbing his face with his fingertips.  “I knew it.  I _knew it_.”

 

“Yeah.” Jongin whispers.  “Sorry, sonsaengnim.”

 

“No.  _I’m_ sorry.” Kris says, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.  _Happy birthday, sexy._   “I don’t want the money, Jongin.”

 

Jongin puts his hand back in his pocket and doesn’t argue.  “For the record, I was never a whore.” He adds, picking up his bag.

 

Kris looks up.  “I—” He can’t bring himself to say it out loud, but Jongin nods as if he understands all the same.  “Why did you need it?” He asks instead, though he’s careful to sound curious rather than accusing.  Jongin flushes remorsefully anyway.

 

“My mom had just lost her job at that point, and we were getting pretty desperate.  My brother needs medication, and we didn’t even have food.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal.  “But my mom got hired last month at a new place, and I started working at a restaurant right before I transferred here.”

 

He pulls his bag on over his shoulders, and on his way out, he turns his head to look at Kris appraisingly.  He puts his hand back in his pocket and pulls out the little sheaf of money, and tucks it gently into the pocket of Kris’s white dress shirt.  “I’m glad I could fix this, at least.”

 

In the same motion, he leans in and kisses Kris’s cheek.  It’s only a simple peck, but Kris’s face burns where Jongin’s mouth touches him, and he feels his whole body respond as if Kai is grinding in his lap again.  Breathless, he stares straight ahead, unsure as to whether he wants to grab Jongin and shake him hard, or to grab him and kiss him again properly.

 

But then Jongin is retreating, a faint smile fading from his gorgeous lips.  He stops at the doorjamb again, glancing over his shoulder. 

 

“You’re red in the face, sonsaengnim.” He murmurs, eyes flashing dangerously up and down Kris’s body without the slightest effort at subtlety. “You must feel very hot right now.”

 

Kris’s hands twitch at his sides, to what impulse he’s only vaguely aware; Jongin’s hand shoots out to push the door completely shut in front of him instead of walking out.  Kris’s shaky exhale is loud in the silent classroom, as is the click of the lock, and Kris feels trapped, too hot, ensnared.  He moves as if to take a step forward—or he would, if Jongin wasn’t pushing him firmly back against the blackboard with the tips of long fingers splayed on his chest.  His bookbag drops to the floor, forgotten in an instant.

 

“Jongin, what—” Kris says as his back hits the wall, but once again, he’s pretty sure he knows _what_.  Jongin strokes Kris’s tie between index finger and thumb thoughtfully, tongue swiping his lower lip.

 

“Sonsaengnim.” Jongin says softly, and it’s not a question.  “How about another round?  This one’s free of charge.”

 

“I thought you said you weren’t a whore.” Kris growls, one hand slipping into Jongin’s hair and clenching the silky strands tightly.  Jongin whimpers, and the sound ignites him more than anything Kris could imagine on his own.  “But you also said you weren’t Kai anymore.  Why should I believe you?”

 

“I’m not a whore.” Jongin purrs.  “I just said it was free, didn’t I?”

 

Kris hesitates.  “You’re underage.”  He’s running out of justification to oppose Jongin’s advances, and his motivation to resist is waning even faster.  Their lips are almost touching.

 

“I’m not.” Jongin says roughly.  “Not anymore.” And he lurches forward to close the distance between their mouths in spite of the tight hold Kris has on his hair, and— _oh_.

 

Kris had mostly forgotten the taste of Kai, the firmness of his body and the plushness of his mouth.  It all comes back to him in one dizzying blow when Jongin shoves him hard against the blackboard from chest to knee and sucks Kris’s lower lip into his mouth. 

 

There’s a little voice in the back of his head shouting at him to stop, that Jongin is still off-limits, that he shouldn’t do this—but it’s much quieter than the moan Jongin lets out when he leverages himself against Kris’s body with a sinuous rub of his hips.

 

“Jongin,” Kris pants as Jongin presses wet lips to the side of his throat, “Jongin—”

 

“Mmm?” Jongin hums, taking the lobe of Kris’s ear between his lips.  Below, his hand is playing with Kris’s zipper, easing it down slowly over the jutting outline of his cock.  This is so out of control, so fucking wrong—Jongin looks up at him under heavy lids as he wraps warm fingers around Kris’s dick, and _why_ was he protesting this again?

 

Kris growls, grabbing a handful of Jongin’s hair in one hand and pressing the thumb of the other to Jongin’s lower lip. “You’re right.  You’re not a whore.  You’re a _slut_ , Jongin.  Is this how you plan on getting through life?” But there’s no accusation to his tone, only heat.

 

“If I had to live off blowjobs, I’d be broke.” Jongin says casually, gripping at Kris’s waist as he drops to his knees.  Kris lets go of Jongin’s hair to brace himself against the wall, because the way Jongin is gazing up at him through his eyelashes makes Kris’s legs feel dangerously weak.

 

Jongin’s wet tongue swipes across the head of his cock, pushing the foreskin back with his thumb, and holy _shit,_ it’s so damn good.  Kris bites back a sound he just _knows_ is going to be embarrassingly squeaky and distracts himself by sifting Jongin’s hair through his fingers.  Jongin’s hair product leaves residue on his hands, but Kris is far past caring whether his hair is messed up or not; Jongin should have thought of that before biting off more than he could chew.

 

Except that he looks down automatically in surprise when he feels Jongin’s nose bump against his pelvis.  Jongin’s eyes are shut tightly as he swallows the rest of Kris’s cock down to the base—something Kris has never seen before—and it almost makes him come on the spot.  “Jesus _fuck_ , Jongin.”

 

Jongin’s eyelashes are wet from the strain of deep-throating Kris’s dick when he pulls back.  His hair stands up on end where Kris gripped at it, and his lips are shiny red and pressure-swollen from friction, but the grin on his face is pure wickedness.  He sheds his wool blazer onto the floor carelessly; his crisp white shirt is still perfectly pressed and creased, and Kris wants nothing more than to mess it up, to see Jongin tuck that shirt in later, wrinkled and stained with come and spit and sweat.

 

“More, _sonsaengnim_?” Jongin asks teasingly, skimming the tip of his thumb up the underside of Kris’s spit-wet cock.

 

Kris laughs raggedly.  “Like bending you over my desk?” Jongin lets out an almost identical laugh in response, betraying his impatience and eagerness.

 

“Sit on the desk.  Shirt and tie off.” Kris says hoarsely, and Jongin does as he’s told.  Seated on the edge of the heavy desk, Kris can see the prominent tent of Jongin’s pants—but Jongin is looking at him expectantly.

 

“Can I keep the tie?” Jongin asks, and for the first time, Kris sees a touch of uncertainty in his eyes.  It confuses him, and he pauses, considering.  Jongin stretches his feet out and draws Kris in with legs hooked around his hips.  Well, that much is clear.  Kris splays his hands on Jongin’s belly, warm through the starched cotton.  Jongin bites his lip and leans back on his elbows.

 

“Any particular reason?” Kris reaches out to undo the last few buttons of Jongin’s shirt.  He pushes the white fabric out of the way to expose the lean lines of his body, as golden and lovely as he remembers—and all the better for it, now that he’s seeing Jongin clearly.  “I seem to recall being quite clear about it.”

 

Jongin doesn’t speak; instead, he grabs the short end of his tie and pulls.  Kris sees the dark fabric constrict on Jongin’s slender neck.  “Oh.” Kris says, and the sound is half sudden comprehension, half moan.

 

“When you want me to come, just pull this end.” Jongin says, his voice low, his eyes narrowed in a challenge, and Kris is helpless against the need that floods his body and shorts out his reasoning.  He yanks Jongin’s elbows out from under him so that he lands flat on his back on the dark wood of Kris’s desk, and Jongin only has time to gasp in surprise before Kris’s mouth covers his again with bruising force.

 

But just as quickly, Jongin’s hands grab fistfuls of Kris’s hair, knees riding high on Kris’s ribs and legs tight around his hips, grinding with almost painful force against him.  Everything about him is hot and urgent and demanding, right down to where Kris’s hands are yanking open Jongin’s belt impatiently.

 

“Turn over.” Kris pants against Jongin’s neck, sitting up to pull open a side drawer.  Jongin does as he’s told, glancing over his shoulder as Kris pulls down his slacks and boxers one-handed, pushing back against Kris impatiently, the pale, soft flesh of his ass so tempting.  Kris tries his best _not_ to think about how his cock will look sliding between Jongin’s cheeks; he’s already spun up so badly he isn’t sure how long he’ll last.

 

He keeps a supply of condoms in his bottom drawer for the students who are too shy to buy their own, and he thanks his past self for his foresight, no matter how irresponsible the present Kris is being.

 

“Please, sonsaengnim, inside me.” Jongin says in a desperate voice, and Kris is helpless to resist him.  He wants it almost more than Jongin seems to.

 

A tube of hand lotion is all he has to ease the process, but it will have to do; he uncaps it and squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers.  Jongin arches back against him with a husky demand in his throat, and Kris laughs inwardly before sliding two fingers in at once.

 

“Cold!” Jongin yelps, his fingers clenching around the far edge of the desk.  Kris smirks.

 

“I was going to warm it up for you.” Kris whispers into Jongin’s ear hotly, flexing his fingers to coax a low moan from Jongin’s mouth.  “But you’re greedy, so I gave you exactly what you wanted.”

 

He thrusts his fingers shallowly, careful to angle them just right against the soft spot inside Jongin that makes his breath hitch, and Jongin’s hand flies back to Kris’s arm and forces his fingers deeper with a tight grip on his wrist.  He crooks his fingers hard inside the tight heat of Jongin’s body, and Jongin wails piteously, his hips jerking uncontrollably backward.

 

“That’s enough for you, greedy boy.” Kris retracts his fingers and lands a stinging slap to the outside of Jongin’s bare thigh, eyes hungrily roaming the smooth expanse of his honey-golden skin.

 

“Please.  Please.” Jongin whispers, his knuckles white on the edge of the desk.  “Please, Kris…fuck me.”

 

The use of his first name snaps something deep inside Kris.  He opens his mouth to correct Jongin, but nothing comes out except a strangled sort of moan, and they both know Jongin has him exactly where he wants him.  This suits him just fine, however.

 

He gathers himself, and when he opens his mouth next, his voice is impressively steady. “Oh, I will, _Kai_.” Kris says smoothly, rolling the condom over his cock and biting his lip at the pressure.  “Don’t worry.  You’ve earned that much, at least.”  He slides the head of his sheathed cock against Jongin’s hole provocatively, letting it slip up the crack of his ass.  Jongin isn’t the only one who can tease.

 

“Please.” Jongin says again, his voice rougher this time, and Kris pushes the head of his cock in without waiting for him to ask again.  Jongin shivers at the intrusion, the little noise of gratification on his lips urging Kris to continue, but Kris braces a hand against Jongin’s lower back to steady himself as he sinks in a half-inch at a time.  He makes a raw, broken noise when Kris is finally fully seated, the thickness of his cock pressing Jongin open wide.

 

“Is this what you wanted?” Kris asks, and though he means to sound teasing, his voice is cracked and breathless.  Jongin is tight, so fucking tight, and the heat of his body is delicious in the way it wraps around him and squeezes the breath from his lungs.

 

“Move.” Jongin demands, and Kris laughs in response, screwing his hips forward cruelly to make Jongin jerk beneath him.

 

“You wouldn’t last a second if I were as much a tease as you are.” Kris says huskily, spreading a hand on Jongin’s lower back to hold him down and rolling his hips fluidly.  When Jongin throws his hands behind him to grab at Kris’s hips, Kris seizes his wrists in the other hand and pins those to his back, too, and Jongin writhes but doesn’t struggle, moaning sharply on every thrust.  “And you might want to keep it down.”

 

Jongin makes no effort whatsoever to control the volume of his voice.  His little whining moans are sharp in the silence of the classroom, the push that drives Kris’s hips faster, harder, and somehow Kris just _knows_ he’s going to get in trouble for this, but he doesn’t stop.  He can’t.

 

Jongin manages to get a firm footing against the carpeted floor, and he pushes back against Kris’s rolling thrusts with force, until Kris is forced to release his hands and instead pull Jongin up against his chest, so that they’re both standing, Jongin half-bent over.  He wails Kris’s name over and over when Kris reaches around to grasp his cock—and then something silky brushes against his hand.  The end of Jongin’s tie.

 

He winds the short end of Jongin’s tie around his fingers and tugs; Jongin’s hand grabs at Kris’s wrist again and bears down on it so hard that Kris can see the fabric biting into his neck, and that’s all it takes for Jongin’s body to snap rigid instantly.

 

Jongin shakes and jerks through orgasm, his voice constricted and high-pitched as he comes in streaks of stark white that land against the dark background of the desk and warmly wet against Kris’s tight fist.

 

Seconds later, Kris feels the familiar burn of orgasm boiling in his stomach and spreading inquisitive tendrils throughout his body, and then without warning crashing over him, his vision fraying and his skin tingling, hips still working lazily and pushing them both through the aftershocks.

 

Jongin is trembling, exhausted, panting as Kris withdraws, and his elbows shake violently as he tries to hold both of them up out of the mess he’s made on the desk.  Kris is quickest to recover and slings an arm around Jongin’s chest to support him when Jongin drops his head back on Kris’s shoulder, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion and his swollen lips parted to suck air.  He grins at Kris as his eyes fall shut.

 

“Better than I remember, sonsaengnim.” He wheezes, laughing as he leans in for a kiss.  This one is soft, much softer than the first kisses, and Kris feels his heart skip a little.

 

“You’d better not have gotten me in trouble.” Kris grins against Jongin’s mouth.  Jongin chuckles as he pulls up his slacks with shaking hands.

 

“Walk me home?” He asks with an uncharacteristically sweet smile as he shrugs his stained white shirt back over his shoulders and tightens his tie around the collar.  Kris smiles back, unable to help himself.

 

“Of course.”


End file.
